


Something Soon

by FractalBunny



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adopted Keith (Voltron), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Gen, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance is an immigrant, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FractalBunny/pseuds/FractalBunny
Summary: Keith is a freshman at UCLA majoring in classics. His whole life is set ahead of him; he's going to go to school, get his master's, work at a museum, get his PhD, and die at his desk grading papers someday. He meets a lonely guitar player with a beaten up acoustic and no money to his name that changes that.!!!This may or may not be updated eventually, I've fallen a little out of love with this work but I will keep y'all updated!!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Biting my clothes to keep from screaming // Taking pills to keep from dreaming // I want to break something important // I want to kick my dad in the shins

Keith got out of class late for the third time that week. He was pissed – he didn’t want to miss his bus home. As a classics major at UCLA, he had to take the always thrilling Classics 101 course, taught by a quirky man with a mustache who didn’t seem to know what a clock was. He had to walk fifteen minutes from the building to the bus, which would pick him up at 7:30 pm (hopefully) and take him back to the border of Mid-Wilshire and Koreatown where he lived with his older brother Shiro.

He got started, winding through the campus, taking long steps to speed up. His feet carried him down Gayley Avenue, turned him onto Wilshire Boulevard, all the way to the Westwood/Wilshire stop. There was a small crowd of people standing under the hooded bus stop as a light drizzle started.

Keith’s head turned when he heard a familiar lead-in, a smattering of Latin-styled notes messily played on a beaten up, off-brand acoustic guitar. The guitarist struck an E-minor chord and began to sing in a soft, scratchy voice.

“Come on over in my direction…” A G chord. “So thankful for that, it’s such a blessing, yeah…" 

Keith smirked. He’d heard plenty of people try to cover Despacito – but it usually became unrecognizable by the time the Spanish lyrics began. Granted, he was no Spanish speaker either. He barely knew Japanese despite his father speaking it sporadically throughout his childhood. Keith leaned up against a pole, eyes trained on the nervous guitarist.

“Baby take it slow so we can last long…” This was it. Keith’s smirk turned into a full grin. He was ready to watch another budding musician get crushed by the first line of Luis Fonsi’s verse. The musician took a deep breath, planted his fingers on the frets, and struck another E-minor chord.

What happened next made Keith’s jaw drop to the floor.

“Tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal, me voy acercando y voy armando el plan, sólo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso, oh yeah, ya, ya me está gustando más de lo normal, todos mis sentidos van pidiendo más, esto hay que tomarlo sin ningún apuro…” The guitarist briefly made eye contact with Keith despite him being one of many at the bus stop. “Des…pa…cito.” He sounded out the word softly, playing another E-minor as gently as he could. A shiver went down Keith’s spine. He had to shake it off, though; his bus had just arrived, the 720 to downtown LA.

Keith pulled out his TAP card and stepped onto the bus with one last look at the lonely guitarist with a handful of singles in his case. He wasn’t looking at him anymore; it must have just been a single strange moment between the two. The man had short, soft-black hair, but that’s all that Keith saw before the bus jerked to a start and drove away.

He was on the bus for forty-five minutes before it finally dumped him and a handful of others off at Wilshire/Crenshaw, where he would walk for just a few minutes before he reached Shiro’s condo. It was starting to get dark already; winter was approaching fast.

“Hey, Keith. How was school?” Shiro said the exact same thing every time Keith walked through the door.

“Great.” Keith muttered his usual response.

“I still can’t believe you’ve decided to study _classics_. I didn’t think you had the patience for it.” Shiro chuckled. “How’s your class? Is the professor still strange?”

“He’s not strange…” Keith sat down on the couch next to Shiro. “He’s just…weird.” Shiro smirked and leaned his head back. “You tired? I could make dinner.” 

“Oh no.” Shiro said, immediately standing up as though he’d just downed ten cups of coffee. “After the chicken incident, I am _not_ letting you near my stove again.”

“Oh, shut up.” Keith rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He grabbed the TV remote and flipped through channels until he found a rerun of a show he usually watched. Shiro began cooking something up in the kitchen, humming to himself.

* * *

The next morning, Keith woke up in a cold sweat. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but he took solace in the fact that it was almost Friday. After brushing his teeth and getting dressed in a black My Chemical Romance shirt and some skinny jeans from his high school days, he looked in the mirror with a long sigh. He hated when he ran out of clothes and was forced to wear something embarrassing. He also hated doing laundry.

“Keith! Are you ready to go?” Right. Keith was 19 and Shiro still walked him to the bus every day. Granted, they took the same bus for a few stops, but it was still embarrassing.

“Yeah, hang on!” He grabbed his rain jacket and tucked it into his backpack. After quickly fixing his hair, he flew down the stairs and out the door after Shiro, not forgetting to lock it. He knew he was dead if he _ever_ forgot to lock it.

“So, what are your classes today? I always forget what Thursdays are for you.” Shiro chuckled.

“Just some gen eds. Literary analysis and philosophy.” Keith said, pulling out his phone and checking the weather forecast. Thankfully, there was only a 10% chance of rain.

“How fun.” Shiro sighed. “I miss college sometimes. It was just…a little strange after my astronomy professor disappeared. I remember them trying to cover it up on the news saying it was some sort of accident or something.” He looked at the ground. “And his son went missing. God, what was the guy’s name? Professor Holt or something like that.” Keith rarely listened to Shiro ramble, and this was no exception.

“Weird.” Keith mumbled.

“Yeah, really weird. Hey, you remember what Dad always used to say?” Shiro nudged Keith with his shoulder.

“In LA, everyone wants to go away.” They said in union. Shiro laughed nostalgically while Keith pulled out his phone again.

“His jokes might have been terrible but he was always right.” Shiro said, leaning his head back to look at the sky.

Keith opened up Facebook and started to scroll through his friends’ posts. He was mostly friends with people from high school he never talked to anymore. One of his old band members had shared a memory from two years ago.

“Throwback!” Rolo captioned it. Keith opened the video, completely forgetting why they had taken it in the first place.

“Hey guys, we’re Red Lion and we’re gonna be covering Something Soon by Car Seat Headrest.” Keith cringed at his own voice. His 17-year-old self had thick eyeliner under his eyes, glittery false lashes, and had hair that draped just below his eyebrows. He suddenly remembered what the video was for. It was the first show he’d ever played with his old band. “They’ve only been around for a couple years so you’ve probably never heard of them. In any case, this song is fuckin’ awesome!”

“Aw, is that your first show? I think I took that video!” Shiro said with a smile. “I remember how excited you were. Didn’t Dad get you that guitar? What ever happened to it?" 

“Yeah, it was a…” Keith squinted. “Candy apple red Squier Stratocaster. Ugh. I think it's just collecting dust in his basement. What a piece of shit guitar.” Squier was the beginner’s brand of choice, and the Stratocaster was their most basic and most used model.

“Hey, it was free.” Shiro said, nudging Keith’s shoulder with his own.

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith mumbled. He remembered the band fondly; it was him, Rolo, and Nyma. Keith was lead vocals and guitar, Rolo was bass and backing vocals, and Nyma was the drummer. The three had been inseparable in high school, but Nyma went to school in New York and Rolo was in Florida. 

The two got on their westbound bus and Shiro got off after only four stops to transfer. Keith kept going all the way to Westwood/Wilshire and hopped off, checking the time. It was 7:46 am. He had exactly 14 minutes to get to class. It was usually a 20 minute walk.

“Fuck!” Keith whispered, taking off in a jog. He was _never_ late. The one thing he ever took seriously were his classes; they took priority over everything else.

School was the reason he and his band broke up. He wanted to focus on college.

School was the reason he and his last girlfriend broke up. He wanted to focus on college.

School was the reason Keith had given everything else up in his life. He wanted to make his family proud, and he was going to do it by majoring in something scholarly. Classics. He’d always loved reading. He’d always loved history. He saw himself going to work in a museum someday, maybe for just a few years, and then going back for his PhD. He’d teach at a university for the rest of his life and finally die after enriching the lives of his students.

Well, that was the plan, anyways.

Keith really didn’t want that, but what else was he supposed to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea when I'll continue this as I'm super swamped with school work, but yes, I do know about music to an extent so this should be a pretty true-to-life fic when it comes to the music aspects. I encourage you guys to Google the guitars I bring up - they've all got their own vibe that I'm using to portray the characters a little better!
> 
> Songs Used:  
> -"Despacito" by Luis Fonsi, Daddy Yankee, and Justin Bieber  
> -"Something Soon" by Car Seat Headrest


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was referring to the present in past tense // It was the only way that I could survive it // I want to close my head in the car door // I want to sing this song like I’m dying

Keith made it to class with only a minute to spare and sat down in one of the few remaining seats. He surprisingly loved literary analysis; his professor never did much, but his teaching assistant Allura was always there and ready to lecture.

“Okay…it looks like it’s about 8 am. This clock is never right.” She had a thick British accent that Keith always found soothing despite the fact that she tended to pick on him during class. “I guess we’ll start and see what happens!” Allura turned around with a smile. “Okay, so, the book for this week was The Tempest…”

Keith started to feel himself doze off a little. He’d analyzed plenty of Shakespeare in high school – he knew how to bullshit it at this point. As always, Allura singled him out in the room of 80 awkward freshmen. How she knew everyone’s name already, he didn’t know.

“Keith, what can you tell us about Ferdinand?” Damn. He hated that he was so easy to spot – his hair was badly self-cut, his red and white leather jacket was ratty, and he wore fingerless gloves. He looked like the kind of person who didn’t give a shit about his classes, but that couldn’t be less true. 

“Um…” He bit his lip. “He’s formal. He’s an idealist. He’s a hopeless romantic when it comes to Miranda.” Keith sat back, relaxing. “He calls her a goddess and wants to serve her.”

“Very good!” Allura beamed. “Anyways, onto Miranda herself…” And Keith drifted off again. People were scribbling notes furiously in their notebooks, but he just had his open to a blank page. He didn’t _need_ notes. He knew what he’d read.

When class got out, he had three hours until his next one, so he decided to walk around the campus. It was gorgeous. He inhaled the humid air and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw his friend from philosophy staring at him. Great. Not like he wanted alone time or anything. 

“Hey Keith!” Hunk said. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much.” Keith crossed his arms. “I got let out of my first class early so I thought I’d walk around before lunch. How was physics?”

“Oh, it was so cool! The professor talked about electromagnetism today. I won’t talk your ear off about it though.” Hunk grinned. “Dude, I talked to my advisor about doing aerospace engineering, and she said I probably can!”

“Hey man, that’s awesome.” Keith smiled. “You uh…wanna grab lunch?”

“Yeah, but fuck the cafeteria food. I’ll treat you today. We should go through Westwood Village.” Hunk said. “Come on. I just got paid at work.” 

“Fine.” Keith muttered, following Hunk through the south end of campus and into Westwood Village. It was an area of stores, restaurants, and other venues that almost every student on campus went to over the weekend. They finally stopped at a small French café. Keith got a sandwich and sat down to eat it, flipping open his philosophy textbook to get ahead on the reading.

“Dude, do you ever take a break? Just enjoy the food.” Hunk said, leaning onto the table.

“Breaks are for people who can’t handle their own lives.” Keith said through a bite of his sandwich.

“Geez, what bit you in the ass today?” Hunk asked, starting to dig into his own food.

“Nothing, I just…” Keith sighed. “I focus on school. That’s all.”

“Are you sure? You’re usually way more willing to chill out.” Hunk replied.

“I just…I saw this video of myself when I was 17. It was embarrassing. I didn’t give a shit about anything then except music. I would put off assignments to write crappy songs. I don’t wanna be that guy anymore.” Keith set down his food. “I need to feel proud of myself, you know?”

“Yeah man, I get that, but take a break. It’s not healthy to go as hard as you do all the time. I mean geez, I’ve known you for two months, but I know that you constantly kick your own ass about school, you work out five times a week _somehow_ , and you’re basically self-sufficient at home. Just enjoy things as they come. You’ll be fine.” Hunk looked down at the table. “I’d be proud of myself if I were you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Keith didn’t believe that, but he’d rather not worry Hunk about his mental state. He was _fine_.

When the two walked out of the café, Keith heard a familiar voice coming from down the street and a familiar clunky playing style accompanying it. He turned and looked, seeing the same person from the day before, singing a song he’d never heard before, which was rare.

“You’re in my dream last week…I’d like to hear what you think…” The man strummed a few simple chords on his beaten guitar, singing in a soft falsetto voice. A few businessmen who were on their lunch breaks were dropping coins and dollar bills into his guitar case.

“Oh, he’s really good!” Hunk said, leaning up against the wall of the café and turning to listen to the guitarist. “He has a really nice voice.”

“He’s got the raw talent, sure, but he has no idea how to play that guitar.” Keith said flatly. “I mean, if he had one that wasn’t a total piece of shit, he’d probably be better, but this is as good as he’ll get for now.”

“Wow, who died and made you king?” Hunk asked through a laugh. “Just let the poor guy be.” Keith, on some strange impulse, walked closer to the guitarist. He looked at the guitar, studying it. There was water damage all across the body, but the strings sounded new. This guy at least knew _something_ about playing; he’d strung the guitar well and the neck looked pristinely oiled and straightened.

“Remember when you took too much…I don’t mind being your crutch…” He sang, his voice suddenly chilling Keith to his core. “I don’t like how things change…” Keith found himself pulling out his wallet and grabbing a few singles, but then he put them back and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He dropped it in the case, and the guitarist grinned. “Thank you so much!” He said between lines of the song.

Keith walked away without saying a word.

“Damn, I thought you said he didn’t know what he was doing.” Hunk teased as Keith went back up to him.

“Eh, hopefully it’ll go towards a better guitar. That thing is beaten to shit.” Keith replied, whipping out his phone. He pulled up the video of himself from two years ago, which was full of comments from his old high school friends saying they’d been there. The two started to walk slowly towards the campus. “Here. This is the video I was telling you about.” Hunk glanced over and immediately burst into laughter.

“Oh, oh god, dude, I’m sorry…” He was cut off by a bout of snorting. “The hair! Look at that hair! And that eyeliner!” Suddenly, teenage Keith started to sing, and Hunk’s laughing stopped. Actually, all of him stopped – he even stopped walking. “Dude, that’s _you_?”

“Yeah, why?” Keith asked.

“Your voice is…really good.” Hunk said, starting to walk again. “You should do something with it. Join choir or something.” Keith snorted.

“Choir is for people whose voice isn’t good enough on its own. I’ve _never_ been in choir.” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t like music anymore. So, I stopped. Talent isn’t everything; you’ve gotta love doing it.”

“Fair enough.” Hunk conceded.

The two walked back to the campus, with Hunk talking about different recipes and things that he’d learned in class while Keith nodded along. This wasn’t unusual, if anything, it was strange that Keith had talked as much as he did. He was more of a listener now, unlike his high school self, who was all talk and showing off.

Granted, he was trying to erase that version of himself as much as much as possible. Keith was almost embarrassed of his younger self – he hated how hotheaded and outgoing he used to be. He realized very quickly in college that listening was much more his forte; instead of almost failing out like he did in high school, he had A’s and B’s across the board so far.

They got back to the campus with twenty minutes to spare before class. After making their way into the building they milled around in the hall for a couple minutes before the class before them was let out. Once the professor walked out, the two of them and a handful of other students walked in.

The two took their usual seats near the center of the room. Keith was more inclined to sit in the back, and Hunk in the front, so they compromised.

Keith sighed, leaning back in his seat. He had the mysterious guitarist stuck in his head. Out of nowhere, a man had suddenly appeared on the street, playing a hideous guitar like a beginner but singing with a beautiful voice. He wanted to know more. He almost wanted to go up to the man and say hey, did you know your guitar was shit when you bought it or did your parents get that for you as a birthday gift? Can’t you buy a nicer one so you don’t look like a dumbass?

But Keith knew he didn’t care _that_ much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pff Keith you're such an elitist asshole...leave the man aloNE
> 
> Also wow I posted this yesterday and I already have 4 subscriptions thank you?? You guys are so sweet. I'm so happy that this is my comeback to fanfiction.
> 
> Songs Used:  
> -"Change" by (Sandy) Alex G


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy boots on my throat I need // I need something soon, I need something soon // I can’t talk to my folks I need // I need something soon, I need something soon

Keith got home surprisingly early after class. It had started to drizzle on his walk home from the Wilshire/Crenshaw stop, but he had his rain jacket on. Much like his leather jacket, it was red and white, but patterned differently.

He had always been drawn to the color – enough to name his old band after it. It had always felt powerful, self-righteous, and intelligent to him. Granted, Keith didn’t care _that_ much about color theory, but he couldn’t deny that he felt good in red.

Once he got inside the condo, he immediately whipped out his laptop and sprawled out on the couch. Shiro hated when he put his feet up on the pillows, but he wouldn’t be home for another three hours, so Keith did it anyways. 

By some strange force, he ended up on the Guitar Center website, looking at used acoustic guitars. The cheapest ones were around $45, but either came from brands he’d never heard of or were beaten up Hohners, Yamahas, and Fenders. Keith had never really been into playing acoustic, but he wanted to pull up the webpage in front of the lone guitarist and say _look, look at all of these cheap-ass guitars that don’t have the finish peeling off_!

He flipped over to the used electric guitars and started to browse. When he was confronted with a list of brands, he chose Fender. Keith couldn’t help it; he was a man of style. He scrolled through the incredibly cheap Starcasters and Stratocasters, wincing at how ugly some of the colors and finishes were. He started to see some Telecasters intermingled in the $200-$300 price range, but he’d always hated the look of those. Keith finally stopped when he saw a guitar he’d always loved: the Blacktop Jaguar. It had a harsh bite to it when the output was turned up, but when it was lowered the pickups would sing. 

Keith suddenly found himself checking his bank account balance, but immediately closed the tab. He couldn’t get distracted by a guitar, especially a $450 one, knowing that he’d have to drop another couple hundred on the accessories. He couldn’t be distracted from his schoolwork, either.

He closed out of Guitar Center and shut his laptop, opting to get back into his philosophy textbook.

Somehow, he had his nose between the pages until Shiro got home.

“Feet off the couch, Keith, how many times do I have to tell you that’s Italian leather?” Shiro snapped as soon as he walked in the door. “Sorry, sorry, long day.” He sighed. “How was school?”

“Fine.” Keith muttered, turning another page. “I’m almost done with this.”

“You read the _entire_ textbook? Is philosophy that fascinating?” Shiro said through a laugh. 

“Nope.” Keith replied, smirking.

“Geez. I wish I tried as hard as you.” Shiro set down his bag and hung his jacket up. “Is pizza okay? I really don’t have the energy to cook today.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna go for a run. Do you want me to pick it up?” Keith closed his book and set it down.

“What? No, Keith, it’s drizzling. I don’t want you running through the rain…with pizza.” Shiro sighed. “I’ll call it in now, I’m starving. Is pepperoni okay?”

“Yeah, do green peppers on one half.” Keith stood up. “I’m gonna change and go out. How long till it gets here?”

“I’ll let you know.” Shiro whipped out his phone and dialed the nearest pizza place.

Keith went into his room and changed into a plain black shirt and gym shorts. He dug through his closet for a few minutes to find his running shoes, which were unsurprisingly red. On his way out, he grabbed his rain jacket and put it on.

He put in his earbuds and pulled up a random workout playlist. When he stepped out, he noticed that the rain had let up, but it was still foggy and a little chilly. Keith started out walking, thinking that the ground might be wet and therefore slippery.

After walking about half a mile, he checked the ground by rubbing his shoe into the cement. It didn’t feel slippery, so he broke into a jog, making his way through Koreatown. When he got to MacArthur park, he slowed down again, walking down a path to the lake and looking out. The water started to shimmer as the sun set. He only looked for a moment before jogging almost the whole way back home.

* * *

“Welcome back.” Shiro said as Keith walked through the door. Keith was drenched in sweat; he had really pushed himself. “The pizza got here about fifteen minutes ago. It should still be warm.”

“Yeah.” Keith took a few deep breaths so he would stop panting. “Thanks. Want me to pay my half?”

“No, god, no.” Shiro smiled. “You’re my little brother. Let me take care of you once in awhile.” Keith didn’t know how to react. He hated being babied, but he also appreciated Shiro more than most things.

“Thanks.” Keith said, getting a plate out of the cabinet. “I’m gonna finish an essay in my room. Don’t make too much noise.” He put a couple slices onto the plate and grabbed his backpack.

“Got it.” Shiro replied. “Let me know if you need any help editing.” 

“Yep.” Keith was already halfway up the stairs.

* * *

When Keith checked the time again, it was 1 am.

“Shit.” He muttered. His essay was done, he had just ended up getting sidetracked…on the Guitar Center website. Not just that, he’d also been watching videos of people playing guitars he’d always dreamed of having when he was younger. 

Why did that guitarist on the street have such a pull on him?

He closed his laptop and soon enough his eyes, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all I'm gonna be MIA for a couple days, I'm having a mini-emergency with one of my pets. So expect the next update to be within a week or two but not within the next few days.
> 
> Also Shiro is absolutely a stan for Italian leather and you can't tell me otherwise!
> 
> This is a Keef chapter, of course, we have no mention of the guitarist but it's a glimpse into Keith's incredibly unsustainable lifestyle. Poor Keef.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my fingers are froze I need // I need something soon, I need something soon // Only one change of clothes I need // I need something soon, I need something soon // My head is, my head is, my head is

Keith woke up at 6 am, head pounding. He could usually get by on 6 or 7 hours of sleep, but not 5. Thank god it was Friday.

He took a cold shower. His skin rose into goosebumps as he harshly scrubbed at his face with a washcloth, trying to wake himself up more. When he turned the water off, he started to shiver and quickly wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

Keith got dressed in better clothes than the day before, throwing on a plain white shirt and black jeans. He put on his signature leather jacket, followed by his rain jacket, and grabbed his backpack.

When he got downstairs, Shiro was waiting at the front door as always.

“Wow, someone’s up early.” Shiro smiled. “Let’s get going.”

“Yeah.” Keith followed him out.

When Keith got to the Westwood/Wilshire stop and got off his bus, he saw a familiar face. He actually had time before class for once; he simply stood there watching the guitar player.

The young man hadn’t started playing yet. He was just sitting on a bench, guitar still in the case next to him. Keith, on some strange impulse, went over and sat next to him. The guitarist looked up and gave him a smile, flashing perfectly white teeth. Keith swallowed and looked at the ground.

“Hey, have I met you before? You look really familiar.” The guitarist said. 

“No, I can’t say we’ve met.” Keith replied.

“ _Really_?” The guitarist laughed. “You must have one of those faces.”

“I guess so.” Keith mumbled. “So, what kind of guitar do you have there?”

“Um…” The guitarist shrugged. “Dunno. My grandpa left it to me in his will. It’s ugly but it does the job.” He unzipped the case and pulled it out. “The poor guy had Parkinson’s and couldn’t play it for the last few years of his life. It just sat in its stand all dusty.” He ran his fingers down the strings. “It sounds nice though, wanna hear?”

“Sure.” Keith said.

“Let me tune it real quick.” The guitarist pulled out his phone and opened up a tuning app, plucking at each string and moving the tuners for half a minute. “Okay, looks good. Any requests?” He opened up his case and faced it out towards the street for tips.

“Uh…” Keith racked his brain. “Do you know Golden Dandelions?”

“Duh, who doesn’t?” Lance played a few chords. “I haven’t played it in a hot minute. Give me a second.” He strummed his way through a C, an A minor, an E minor, and a G. “Yeah, that’s it. Four easy ones.” He looked at Keith. “Can you sing? I don’t really remember the lyrics.”

“Oh, uh…” Keith flushed. “Not really.”

“No problem.” The guitarist hummed something to himself. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” He strummed a C. “She came to me in rows of white…” His fingers moved quickly between the rapidly changing chords. “In the corner of my room, a specter of the night, silhouetted by the moon…” A woman dropped a dollar bill into his case. “Thank you! We’re floating fast over traffic lights, bearing down on blackened skies, colors burst as I close my eyes, ooh, she said…”

Keith closed his eyes and smiled. 

“Lay me down in golden dandelions, cause I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life…” Keith found himself singing along quietly with the guitarist.

“Hey, speak up, you sound great!” The guitarist said. “Follow me into the dark, ooh, ooh…” He threw his head back, his voice hitting the higher notes with ease. Keith had stopped singing after he was noticed, but listened to the guitarist finish the song.

“You’re not bad.” Keith said, crossing his arms.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” The guitarist said with a smile. “I’m Lance, by the way.”

“Keith.” Keith was not a man of many words.

“Nice to meet ya, Keith.” Lance leaned forwards and took the dollar out of his case. “You can never be _too_ careful.” He shoved it into his wallet, which was clearly bursting with dollar bills. “Geez, I need to go to the bank.”

“So, uh, how long have you been playing?” Keith asked. His palms were starting to sweat. He really hated meeting new people; it gave him too much anxiety.

“About two years.” Lance absentmindedly plucked notes. “I play every day, though. How about you? Do you play anything?” 

“I uh…used to play guitar.” Keith felt like Lance was running circles around him; he was so high-energy. It made Keith feel a little sick. “But I don’t anymore.”

“Why’d you stop? Rock star life too much for you?” Lance winked. “I’m just messin with ya, buddy.” 

“Actually, yeah, that’s kind of the reason. I just started prioritizing it over everything.” Keith internally slammed his head into the concrete; he didn’t want to turn this into a therapy session. 

“Why is that a bad thing?” Lance’s face dropped.

“It’s…” Keith sighed. “I’m trying to focus on school, that’s all.”

“Me too.” Lance’s brows raised. “I multitask.”

“I just can’t, I guess.” Keith looked away.

“Hey, man, don’t get down. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Lance’s mouth stayed parted. “I’m sorry, I’m bad at meeting new people. Hi, I’m Lance.” Keith sighed.

“Keith.” He said in the same tone as before.

“I play guitar on this bench sometimes, do you come here often?” Lance ended the pickup line with a wink.

“Yeah, every day, actually, I go to school down the street.” Keith checked his phone. “I actually need to get going soon.”

“Oh, that’s cool, I have a friend who goes to UCLA. I won’t keep you.” Lance went back to playing chords. “I have work to do.” 

“Yeah.” Keith stood up. “It was…nice meeting you, Lance.” 

“Nice meeting you too! I’ll see you around, Keith.” Lance shot him one last smile, and Keith couldn’t help but smile back.

Keith started to walk away. He couldn’t stand the guitarist, _Lance_ , even more now. The man didn’t even know the make of his guitar. He played it out of sheer nostalgia. Shockingly, it seemed to be his day job. Worst of all, he’d called Keith out on his complete inability to focus on more than one area of his life at a time.

Keith sighed. He was getting way too caught up in a nonexistent rivalry. Lance was obviously just trying to be friendly and make an honest living through music, two things that Keith couldn’t find a single fault with. That bothered him. 

When he got to class, he was early for once, sitting near the back. He felt his eyes start to close, and he slowly dozed off for a moment. However, he was rudely awakened by the professor walking in, voice booming, and Keith whipped out his laptop to start taking notes.

* * *

After Keith’s Classics 101 course was out surprisingly early, he walked down to the bus stop. Lance wasn’t there anymore; he must have left since it had started to drizzle.

Keith took the bus back home, dropped off his backpack, and changed into his workout clothes. He walked the twenty or so minutes it took to get to his normal gym – it was considered a “women’s gym” as it offered yoga classes and Pilates, but it had weight machines and was within walking distance of his house, so Keith didn’t really give a shit.

When he got there the receptionist grinned at him and he nodded at her as he walked past. The women there all loved him; they wanted to touch his hair, talk about their husbands, and watch him work out. 

“Hi, Keith.” A younger woman named Ezor sat down on the machine next to him. Her hair was dyed all shades of the rainbow, and she was wearing blue, as usual. “Do you mind if I vent?”

“Nope.” Keith started to do lower-weight bicep curls. Ezor leaned back on the rowing machine and sighed.

“My stupid boyfriend hates my new hair. He said I look like a unicorn threw up on me.” She pulled a lock of red hair in front of her eyes. “Does it look bad? I just…I’d be so pissed if it looked bad, you know?” 

“No, it looks fine.” Keith said, increasing the weight by a few pounds.

“See, that’s what I thought! But no, it looks ‘stupid’ and ‘childish’. I’ve always wanted to dye my hair, dammit, let me live!” Ezor set the weight of the rowing machine and started to absentmindedly row. “Whatever. What’s up with you?”

“Not much.” Keith replied. He stopped curling for a moment, taking a few breaths.

“Here, let’s switch machines.” Ezor stood up quickly, and the two switched spots. “Come on Keith, there has to be _something_ interesting going on in your life.” 

“Nope, same old shit.” Keith increased the weight to 50 pounds from Ezor’s 30. “Just school.”

“Geez, kid, you need a hobby.” Ezor leaned back on the machine again. “You’re killing yourself out there.”

“I’m fine.” Keith muttered.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let up.” Ezor got out of the bicep machine. “My usual yoga class is starting in a few. I’ll see you around.” She ruffled Keith’s hair as she walked past him and through the set of doors leading into the yoga studio. 

Keith finished his workout and walked home. Shiro was there but surprisingly had already gone to bed – it was only 7 pm. Then again, the weekend was coming up, so Keith let his brother have some beauty rest.

He went into the kitchen and ate his leftover cold pizza, scrolling through Facebook. Nothing noteworthy was going on, but another memory had come up with Rolo and Nyma. Keith groaned and opened the video. It was their second show; they were opening for a somewhat well-known local band.

“Hey guys, we’re Red Lion, we just played our first show two days ago!” The small crowd cheered. “So far, we’ve been opening with covers, so tonight we’re gonna play All These Things That I’ve Done by The Killers.” Keith played an E chord. “When there’s nowhere else to run…” An E7 chord. “Is there room for one more—“ An A chord. “—son?” 

Keith clicked out of the video and groaned. His voice sounded so pathetic when he was younger. Granted, he was out of practice and probably sounded worse now, but he didn’t even want to find out. 

Or did he?

Keith searched up the lyrics and sat his phone in front of him. He cleared his throat.

“When—“ His voice cracked. Keith cleared his throat _again_. “When there’s nowhere else to run, is there room for one more son? One more son?” He smiled a little into the words. “If you can hold on, if you can hold on, hold on.” His fingers on his left hand started to form the chords. “I wanna stand up, I wanna let go, you know, you know – no, you don’t, you don’t.” Keith’s hips started to sway. “I want to shine on in the hearts of men. I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand.” He air-fingered the chords as he sang through the rest of the first verse. When he got to the hook, he started to bob his head. “Help me out, yeah, you know you gotta help me out, yeah, oh don’t you put me on the back burner, you know you gotta help me out, yeah.” Keith stopped abruptly when Shiro walked into the kitchen, sleep still in his eyes.

“Keith, you know I love you, but please stop. You’re practically _yelling_.” Shiro took a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m glad to hear you singing again, though.” He went back up the stairs while Keith stayed frozen in silent agony.

Keith shut off his phone and went to bed, trying to get the rush he’d felt out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's that mysterious guitarist? None other than Lance himself! What a surprise...
> 
> Songs:  
> -Golden Dandelions by Barns Courtney  
> -All These Things That I've Done by The Killers


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay inside all this winter // Filling out forms from a busted printer // I want to talk like Raymond Carver (an advertisement cries out) // I want to turn down the goddamn TV (he should have gone to Jared’s)

Keith woke up at 11 am, eyes creaking open when he heard Shiro’s bedroom door open and close. He jumped right out of bed, as he usually did, and opened his blinds, revealing another rainy day.

His weekends usually consisted of schoolwork and nothing else. Keith, however, had a different idea for his Saturday, since he was already a few days ahead on readings. He took a quick, cold shower, and brushed his hair just enough to get the knots out.

Since he still hadn’t done his laundry, Keith had to wear a Hollywood Undead shirt and a pair of black faux leather leggings that he’d bought in the women’s section of Macy’s two years before. His skin crawled when he looked in the mirror; he looked like an emo teenage girl. He shook it off and went back to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Keith walked down the stairs around 11:45, and saw Shiro, who had fallen back asleep on the couch already. He draped a blanket over his older brother, grabbed his jacket and backpack, and walked out the front door, making sure to lock it. 

He slapped his TAP card on the bus at the Wilshire/Crenshaw stop and waited the half hour to get to Westwood/Wilshire. The rain cleared up a little more at every stop. When he got off, he saw a familiar face, playing a familiar guitar, singing with a familiar voice.

“Do you wanna come over later, to my house?” Lance strummed a C. “Watch American Beauty in the dark?” Keith recognized the song instantly; he loved Moose Blood in high school. He locked eyes with Lance, who smiled brightly. “And I’ll hold your hand to the very end…” An A minor. “The very end. And we’ll stay awake till tomorrow starts.” Keith’s legs started to carry him over to the bench, where he took the seat next to Lance, who kept playing without missing a beat. “Do you wanna come over later, to my house? Listen to your favorite songs? We’ll pretend the words ain’t true, they don’t mean anything to you, but…do you wanna come over later, to my house?” He started playing a progression between C, A minor, and G, and turned to Keith. “Sing this with me, buddy?” 

“No, I don’t sing.” Keith whispered back.

“Come on, you don’t have to be good. Just have fun with it!” Lance started holding a C chord, giving Keith giant puppy eyes. “I believe in you.”

“Fine.” Keith sighed. He and Lance looked at each other, took a deep breath at the same time, and Keith felt his breath nearly catch in his throat, but it made its way out in a loud voice he hadn’t used in a long time.

“I’ve been smoking too much lately, I can feel it on my chest, but I’ll stand in the garden with you.” Keith took another breath, his vocal chords already straining. He’d gotten weak. Lance seemed ready to keep singing their duet, his eyes gleaming. “I didn’t get much sleep last night but that’s alright, it was worth it just to see you move that hair from your eyes and smile like you do.” Lance started absentmindedly messing around with the chords from the chorus, but let Keith catch his breath.

“You sound like a natural.” Lance winked. “But you can stop. You’re _obviously_ out of practice.” That little bit of hatred that Keith had for Lance since the moment he first saw him came back; he was overconfident. He was cocky. Keith started to want to take the guitar out of his hands and show him what a real guitarist looked like, but he wasn’t in practice with that, either. Lance was, unfortunately, right. He watched Lance play through the rest of the song and slow to a stop. 

“You’re right.” Keith mumbled. “I am out of practice.” 

“Hey man, don’t sweat it. You have a great voice. You shouldn’t have quit.” Lance leaned back on the bench, his guitar sliding down slightly in his lap. “But hey, I heard you sing yesterday too, I know your heart’s still in it.” The guitar slid further and before he realized it, Keith reached across Lance’s lap to grab the neck of the guitar; his training hadn’t failed him. He knew to always pick it up by the neck and somehow retained that after two years of not playing.

However, he was now practically nose to nose with Lance.

“Hey there.” Lance snickered.

“Be…be careful.” Keith almost sounded like he was scolding a child. “These things scuff easily.”

“Hey, the front is already water damaged to shit. It happens.” Lance looked off to the side and started to look uncomfortable. “But, uh, I’ve got it now, thanks.”

Keith realized he was _still_ holding the neck even though Lance had the body of the guitar in both hands.

“Yeah, sorry.” Keith jolted back, blushing out of embarrassment. 

“Dude, you’re fine.” Lance laughed. “Hey, I’ve been playing all morning. Are you hungry?” Keith swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Uh, yeah, why?” Lance pulled out what looked like an iPhone 4 and started typing something. Keith didn’t think anyone even owned the iPhone 4 anymore. Who did this guy think he was? 

“I think my favorite restaurant is open…yeah, it opened at noon. Do you wanna get something, or…?” Keith froze. 

“Uh…” He thought to himself for a moment. “No, sorry, I’ve actually gotta be somewhere soon.”

“Hey man, it’s cool, I’ll catch you the next time you’re out here.” Lance smirked. “And it’s Keith, right? I’m bad with names.”

“Yeah. And you’re…” Keith squinted. “Lance?”

“Yeah, that would be me.” Lance stood up, collected the money out of his guitar case, and gently set the instrument down and snapped the case shut. “Me and Blue here are gonna get going. I haven’t eaten yet.” Keith was almost awestruck – Lance had a _name_ for his guitar. Lance stood there for a few moments before slinging the case over his shoulder. “Well, uh…I’ll see you around, Keith.”

“Yeah.” Keith watched Lance turn and walk into Westwood Village. After a few seconds by himself, Keith got back onto the westbound 720 bus, going in the opposite direction of his home.

He was on the 720 for about 45 minutes before the Santa Monica/4th stop was announced. When he got off, he walked down 4th Street, took a right onto Colorado Avenue, and made his way down to the beach.

Because of the morning rain, there were less people than usual, although some were still sitting on towels in the damp sand or splashing around in the shallows. The ocean was causing a gentle drizzle along the shoreline, but they didn’t care. Keith walked down a damp asphalt path and went to stand under the pier. He inhaled the salty air through his nose and exhaled; it felt sticky and sweet on his tongue.

Keith hadn’t been to the beach since June, and now it was October. He didn’t really care – he had never been a strong swimmer and would usually sit in the sun while Shiro tried to swim out as far as he could. When they would go on their budget “family vacations” to sleazy motels in Venice Beach, which was just south of Santa Monica, they would usually drive up to the Santa Monica Pier one of the days and Shiro would challenge Keith to every single two-player game in the arcade.

He pulled out the book he was reading for Classics 101 – Plato’s Symposium – and sat against the wall, not caring that the sand was going to stick to his ass. Keith sighed and almost smiled; he was, for once, happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't say there would be a little Keith angst? Whoops
> 
> I am also so sorry there was a little 10 day hiatus there, I have been super busy and I have an essay and speech to write PLUS a midterm to study for rn so...bear with me these updates are gonna get slightly sparse for a while
> 
> Songs:  
> -Gum by Moose Blood


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Binging on the latest sitcom // Feeling guilty every second it's on // I want put my foot through a window (I document my mind loss) // I want to romanticize my headfuck (Through instruments of wordplay)

Lance, on the other hand, wasn’t very happy. 

On Sunday morning, he woke up on a stained mattress in his studio apartment in Mid-Wilshire. Across the room, his roommate Katie, better known as Pidge, was still passed out on her futon. Lance groaned, dragging himself out of bed and into the shower.

He turned the water up as hot as it would go without burning him and stepped in. The heat felt good on his cold skin; Pidge loved the AC turned way down, no matter how much Lance complained. He scrubbed at his face with a washcloth, trying his hardest to exfoliate on a budget. Once his skin felt smooth to the touch, he washed himself with whatever cheap body wash Pidge had picked up and turned the water off, starting to shiver as the cool air blasting out of the vents hit him.

Lance checked the time on his phone. It was already almost noon, so he went into the bedroom to wake Pidge up.

“Yo Pidgeon!” He shouted while pulling a pair of skinny jeans up over his ass. “It’s go time!”

“Fuck off.” Pidge mumbled, pulling her blankets over her head. “I don’t even have work today.”

“Oh, come on, you must have _something_ to do while I’m gone. Or do you just sit at the door and wait for me?” Pidge somehow threw her pillow directly at the back of Lance’s head, and he stumbled forwards in surprise. “Not cool!”

“Neither is waking me up when I have nothing to do until 6.” Pidge hissed. “I’m getting a parts shipment for that old guy’s computer, and my paper isn’t due until tomorrow night, okay? Go wave your ass somewhere else.” Lance turned around to bite back, but Pidge was facing the other way. Leave it to her to sass Lance into oblivion while barely awake.

He couldn’t help parenting her a little; she was only 16. Pidge was fiercely independent and also incredibly smart – she had graduated from high school that year and was given the choice of basically any school she wanted. She had always wanted to go to UCLA to follow in her brother’s footsteps, so she applied there first. However, instead of living in a dorm, she insisted on living on her own (mostly so she could game into the late hours of the night) and Lance was happy to take her in.

* * *

_“Sweetheart, are you sure you want to live with a boy?” Her mother had pulled her aside and was giving Lance a strange look. “Especially one so old?”_

_“Mom, come on, he’s just like Matt.” Pidge whined. “If anything weird happens I’ll call you right away, okay?”_

_“Okay, okay, fine. Since you’re saving so much money living here me and your father will send you the rent every month, okay?” Her mother grasped her face and sighed. “You’re such an adult now. We’re so proud of you.”_

* * *

“Okay, Pidgeon, just don’t sleep in too long, okay?” Lance said. Pidge turned back over to face him and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“Okay, yeah, got it. Can you toss me back my pillow?” Lance picked the pillow up and whipped it back at Pidge, hitting her in the chest. “Thanks, asshole.”

“No problem!” Lance strolled out of the apartment and locked the door behind him. He walked to the elevator and went down from the 12th floor. A few people came on as they creaked downwards; the elevator had never quite been up to code and usually screeched every time it stopped. 

Lance got off at the bottom and walked out through the lobby where the secretary was passed out at his desk. Hey, it wasn’t like Lance and Pidge were paying for a _great_ home.

His job bartending started at 5:00, and he would go until 2 am when the bar closed. He would usually get into Central LA early, get lunch, and play guitar for a little while. However, today he didn’t have his guitar. For once, he wasn’t really in the mood to play. 

Lance walked for about ten minutes to the bus stop, and swiped Pidge’s TAP card to get on. She usually had him carry it in his wallet, considering they would both use it to get on the bus in the morning towards UCLA and Lance would use it to move around to different locations to busk throughout the day before returning around 6 pm to pick up Pidge and get them both home. 

UCLA said the card would be defunded if the student ever gave it to someone else, but with 45,000 students, it wasn’t like they actually monitored anything.

Lance got to Central LA around 12:45, getting off at the Hill/3rd stop and taking a look around. The area was busy; everyone was off work and basking in the sun. He soaked in the warmth, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of the 80-degree air. After having a moment, he turned and started to walk down 3rd Street, keeping his head low. He hadn’t exactly made friends with the store owners after half of them threatened to call the cops if he didn’t stop singing.

He walked into a small Mexican restaurant and looked around. The neon signs in the window flickered. A fly made its way along the wall. Classic LA.

“¿Que bola?” Lance asked, leaning on the counter. The cashier smirked.

“Eh, nada. ¿Eres Cubano?” He asked.

“Sí.” Lance glanced up at the menu. “Me pones…¿tres tacos de carne por favor?”

“Sí, cinco y veinte.” Lance handed him the cash and sat down to wait.

After eating and milling around for a while, watching people walk by, Lance stepped into the bar. The sign lit up with the words “Galra LA” as the sun set. It was 5:00 exactly when Lance clocked himself in and slid behind the bar, eagerly waiting for their start time at 6.

“Well well well, look who showed up today.” Lance felt sharp nails dig into his ass.

“I show up every Sunday, Lotor.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

“Oh, that’s right.” Lotor chuckled. “This bar’s looking a little…greasy. Polish it up with Acxa.” He walked back to his little office nestled in the corner.

“He’s just messing with you.” Acxa stepped behind the bar and started scrubbing at it with a rag.

“Maybe I don’t like being messed with.” Lance growled, getting a rag from a bucket under the counter and joining her. “Like I get it, he gave me a job I really needed, kinda illegally, but it’s fucking annoying when he pretends to flirt with me.”

“Hey, what’s he paying you? Enough for rent? That’s all that matters.” Acxa started going through the liquor bottles, replacing the ones that were nearly empty.

“I guess.” Lance took one of the bottles and poured himself a shot, downing it while he worked. “Ugh. I have no idea why anyone drinks this shit.” Acxa picked up the bottle and looked over the label.

“Smirnoff? Pretty much every white girl who comes in asks for this shit. It gets you drunk fast, I guess.” She sniffed it. “Smells like shit.”

“Tastes like shit, too.” Lance licked his lips. “Who’s playing tonight?”

“Some local band we had last week, I dunno. They do power pop.” Acxa poured herself the last shot in the Smirnoff bottle before tossing it out. “I’m just hoping it’s the one with that really hot bass player.”

“Dude, you need to talk to her the next time she’s here.” Lance smirked. “She looks like your type.”

“Oh, leave me alone.” Acxa flicked Lance’s nose and went back to cleaning. Lotor emerged from his office again, this time with an irritated look on his face.

“My friend on the inside said we’re getting inspected tonight. Lance, out of the bar, don’t touch alcohol again until they’re out of here. You’ll be…” Lotor put his finger to his lips, deep in thought. “My personal assistant. And don’t worry Acxa, I’ll help you with drinks before the band starts playing.” Lance went cold. He hated when inspectors came because he was forced to dog around after Lotor, catering to his every need, not making any tips. On good nights, Lance would make a couple hundred in tips, which would come around every month or so. Most nights, he still made enough to cover rent, plus the $10 an hour Lotor generously paid him.

“Got it.” Lance murmured, walking out of the bar. “What’s first?”

“Excuse me?” Lotor raised an eyebrow. Lance sighed.

“What’s first, _sir_?” Lotor wrapped his arm around the small of Lance’s back and pulled him in close.

“Much better!” Lotor gave Lance a peck on the nose and let him go. “Okay, we’re opening in 45 minutes. Lance, come with me and we’ll figure out something for you to pretend to do.” Lance followed after Lotor with one last glance back at Acxa, who gave him a thumbs-up. 

When they got into Lotor’s office, the older man closed the door and tucked his long purple hair behind his ears. He gave Lance a delighted look, taking a seat behind his desk. Lance stood still, frozen, waiting for Lotor to speak.

“You’ll be in here tonight working on my paperwork. If an inspector talks to you, what is your job title?”

“Executive assistant.”

“Do I ever allow you behind the bar?”

“Only after hours with your supervision to take inventory.”

“Are you treated well?”

“Absolutely.” Lotor smiled.

“Well, aren’t you a perfect assistant.” He ran a finger up his own thigh and toyed with the button on his jeans. Lance swallowed hard. “Anyways, you should start helping the band set up for tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Lance flew out of the office like a terrified rabbit and immediately shut the door behind him. Just another day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought Keith was the only one suffering? Ha ha.......fools................
> 
> Also I swear this will switch back to music but what's a slow burn without Klangst


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy boots on my throat, I need // I need something soon, I need something soon // I can't talk to my folks, I need // I need something soon, I need something soon

Keith jolted awake at the sound of his phone alarm. He slammed the snooze button and turned over. After hitting the gym all day on Sunday, he wasn’t physically or emotionally ready for class.

“Keith, let’s go!” Shiro yelled from the bathroom. That man had ears like a hawk.

“I’m up!” Keith snarled, getting out of bed and rubbing his eyes a little too hard. “Can I shower?”

“Yep! Bathroom’s all yours!” Shiro yelled back before closing his bedroom door. Keith walked out of his room, still trying to blink away the sleep from his eyes, and turned on the shower. He took his clothes off slowly, aching, and stepped into the freezing water.

“I’m tired…so tired…” Keith sung to himself while scrubbing his hair with shampoo. “I’m tired of having sex…so tired…” He started to rub conditioner into his hair. “I’m spread so thin…I don’t know who I am…Monday night I’m making Jen, Tuesday night I’m making Lyn, Wednesday night I’m making Catherine, oh, why can’t I be making love come true?” Keith absentmindedly moved his hips to a song heard only in his head. He turned off the water and stood for a moment. Music was somehow making its way back into his head, his body, his heart.

“Keith, did I leave my phone in there?” Shiro called. Keith snapped out of it and stepped out of the shower to see Shiro’s phone sitting on the counter.

“Yeah, give me a minute!” Keith replied, wrapping a towel around his waist. “You’re good!” Shiro immediately opened the bathroom door, snatched his phone, and left without a word. Keith walked out and into his bedroom. He took a plain white shirt and red sweatpants out of his drawers; he had no one to impress.

“Let’s try and catch an earlier bus today, okay?” Shiro called down the call. “I cut it really close on Friday.”

“Okay!” Keith called back. He’d never understand why Shiro insisted the two of them travel together.

When Shiro got off the bus, Keith moved to a seat in the back. For some reason, Shiro always insisted they stand to “keep the blood flowing” or whatever. He waited until his stop was called and stepped off into the drizzling rain.

While walking down Westwood, he heard a familiar voice singing a less familiar song.

“Havana, oh-na-na, half of my heart is in Havana, oh-na-na…” Lance’s fingers smoothly transitioned between E-minor, C, and B7. “He took me back to east Atlanta, na-na-na, oh, but my heart is in Havana, there’s somethin’ ‘bout his manners, Havana, oh-na-na…” Since Keith had about forty-five minutes before his class started, he walked and sat under the awning next to Lance.

“You know any Spanish?” Lance asked, smirking. “’Cause if not, you’re about to be really confused.” He kept fingering the chords, playing them softly as an intermission.

“No, sorry.” Keith pursed his lips.

“You wanna play?” Lance’s eyes went down to his guitar and back to Keith. “C’mon, I’ve seen you eyeing it before.”

“Uh…” Keith was dumbstruck. “Um…”

“Come on, man. You already sang with me a few days ago. Give it up and take the damn guitar.” Lance thrusted the guitar into Keith’s lap. “E-minor to C to B7. You remember that much?”

“Give me a second…” Keith remembered E-minor; it was the easiest chord to play. He moved around for a moment before finding C. “Fuck, I can’t remember B7 at all.”

“Here.” Lance took Keith’s hand in his, positioning his fingers on the frets. Keith struggled to keep his hand from cramping. “It’s a tough one, but you’ve got this.” Keith looked up from the fretboard and at Lance’s unwavering eyes. He was so, so focused on getting Keith’s fingers to stick down in the right spots. “Stretch your hand out for a sec.” Keith pulled his fingers back and wiggled them around. 

“Really, Lance, I don’t think I can-“

“Shut up and let me focus.” Lance bit back. He took Keith’s middle finger and pressed it into the second string above the second fret. Then, he planted his forefinger on the third string above the first fret. “Here’s where it gets tricky.” He placed Keith’s ring and pinkie fingers down on the fourth and sixth strings, both on the second fret. Keith felt his hand screaming, but let it happen. He was in awe of Lance’s fixation on getting him to hold the chord. “Strum.” Keith moved his fingers down against the strings and a perfect B7 chord rang out. “You’re a natural, Mullet!”

“Mullet?” Keith raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, because of the…” Lance gestured to the back of Keith’s head. “Mullet.” Keith blinked a few times. “Okay, just…just go between those three chords, you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Alright.” Keith strummed through the chords a couple times, faltering on B7 but figuring it out soon after. “Let’s do this.” He had a burning feeling in his chest; he had no idea why he’d agreed to do this. When he started to sweat, he struck an E-minor.

“Él vino a buscarme y ahí lo supe!” Lance belted out, closing his eyes. “Me dijo, ‘son tantas las que yo tuve’…” Keith progressed through the three chords, beyond surprised that he was able to keep up with Lance. The way he looked when he sang made Keith remember how he used to feel when he would perform; powerful. “No puedo soltarte, no seas tan cruel!” His voice was emotional, pulling Keith through a story he couldn’t understand. “Mi papá me dice que malo es él!” Lance’s voice cracked in the midst of his passion and his eyes opened with surprise. He stretched his legs and stood up. “Slow down a little. Stop panicking.” He whispered just loudly enough for Keith to hear.

“Sorry.” Keith whispered back, letting his pace become more relaxed.

“Ooh-ooh-ooh, lo supe en un seguno, él cambiaría mi mundo…” Lance’s voice was seductive, smooth, not quite Keith’s style but impressive nonetheless. “Ya no puedo más, ooh-ooh-ooh, ay y es que me duele mucho….” He paused for just a second to say thank you to a woman who’d thrown a dollar into his guitar case. “Decir adiós, oh na-na-na-na-na!” Lance turned to Keith again, a grin stretched across his face. “You wanna sing the last part with me?” Keith’s expression remained unchanged. “Come on, put the guitar down and sing with me!”

“Are…are you sure?” Keith asked, letting his hand go loose around the guitar’s neck. 

“Yeah, here, hand me the guitar.” Lance reached his hands out with a warm glint in his eyes. “Don’t be scared, Mullet. You already sang for me once!”

“Alright…” Keith handed him the guitar and Lance sat back down, starting to strum the chord progression with ease.

“I’ll start and you join in, okay?” Lance squared his shoulders. “Havana, oh-na-na…” Keith joined in.

“Half of my heart is in Havana, oh-na-na, he took me back to east Atlanta, na-na-na, oh, but my heart is in Havana, there’s somethin’ ‘bout his manners, Havana, oh-na-na.” Lance played through the chords a few more times, improvising by adding a few more in here and there before finally cutting off the sound.

“So, you can still sing.” Lance mused, tilting his head. “ _Shocker_.” Keith rolled his eyes and decided to change the subject.

“How do you know so much Spanish?” He asked, checking the time on his phone. There was still plenty of time before he had to leave for his class.

“You…you can’t tell?” Lance asked, stifling a laugh.

“Tell what?” Keith asked in return.

“Soy _Cubano_.” Lance purred. Keith raised an eyebrow. “I’m Cuban. The dark skin and accent didn’t tip you off?” Come to think of it, Lance _did_ have a slight accent.

“I…probably should have noticed that.” Keith, in a rare moment, laughed at himself. 

“Must be all that hair in your eyes.” Lance flipped Keith’s bangs up for a moment with his forefinger. “See it now?” Keith pulled back, his hair flopping back down onto his forehead. “Here, hang on, let me show you a few pictures. It’s really pretty this time of year.” Thunder cracked in the distance. “On second thought, maybe we should get inside. I don’t need any more water damage on this thing.” He placed his guitar in the case and quickly shut and locked it. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

“I have a class-“

“Screw it. Let’s go somewhere.” Lance squinted mischievously. “What day is it?”

“Monday.” 

“Do you have to turn in anything?” 

“No.”

“Okay, ditch it then. Let’s get that food you rain-checked me on last time!” Thunder cracked again, this time louder. “And…soon, please.” Lance stood up and held out his hand to Keith. Keith took it and slowly stood up, trying to figure out what to do. His class was in-between units, so they weren’t doing much. He was starting to get tired of the same daily grind…

“Yeah, okay.” He crossed his arms. “Where to?”

“Do you mind if we stop by my apartment so I can drop this off?” Lance tightened his hold on his beaten-up guitar case.

“Um…” Keith started to second-guess himself. He was being invited to the apartment of someone he barely knew. “Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s move! We can catch the 10 am bus if we run!” Before Keith could respond, Lance took off into the rain. He lingered under the awning for a few seconds before chasing after him. Despite holding the clunky guitar case under his arm, Lance could move, dodging the few people still outside. About two hundred feet in front of them was the bus stop, and the 10 am bus lumbered straight past it. “Shit, come on, Keith!” Lance was laughing. His hair was slicked to his face and his guitar was definitely going to get more water damage, but he was laughing.

The two turned the corner and took off after the bus, shouting and waving their arms. It pulled off to the side and screeched to a halt. They stepped on to see a very irritated driver and a handful of even more irritated passengers.

“Sorry, guys!” Lance announced, rooting around in his pocket for a few quarters that he dropped into the coin slot. Keith swiped his TAP card and the two flopped into seats, chests heaving. 

“Jesus Christ.” Keith wheezed.

“I haven’t run that much since high school.” Lance said, bursting into laughter again.

“What’s so funny?” Keith cracked his knuckles. “We’re soaked.” 

“That’s it!” Lance wiped his eyes. “We’re soaked!” He sighed, wiping some of the water off of his guitar case with his sleeve. Keith didn’t understand, but he nodded.

“Fuck. I’m skipping class.” Keith put his head in his hands. “Why am I skipping class?”

“Are you kidding me? Have you never ditched a class before?” Lance snickered. “Don’t worry about it. They won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“No, I’ve…ditched classes before. Just not in college.” Keith felt like an idiot. He was doing exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do: acting like his 16-year-old self. He slowly leaned forwards and put his head in his hands.

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Lance leaned forwards too, staring intently at Keith. “It’s okay.” Keith wanted to grab the lone guitarist by the shoulders and say _no, it’s not, you have no idea_! But instead he took a deep breath, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “There you go.” Lance put his hand on Keith’s back, making him perk up with surprise.

The two got off the bus in Mid-Wilshire and the rain had escalated to a pour. Lance led Keith under awnings and overhangs all the way to his apartment. When they got inside, they came across Pidge typing away at her laptop.

“Pidge, this is Keith. Keith, this is my roommate Pidge. ” Lance locked eyes with Pidge. “She should really be _in class_ right now.” 

“Oh, buzz off, Lance. I emailed the professor that I had the flu and he sent me the work for today. I’m not going out in that rain.” She rapped her knuckle against the window. “No thanks.”

“So, are you guys like, together or something?” Keith asked. 

“Ew.” Pidge muttered. “Lance wishes.”

“As if.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Nah, she’s just my roommate. Hence the two mattresses. Pidge only sleeps in my bed when she’s scared and can’t find her teddy bear.”

“Fuck you.” Pidge still hadn’t looked up from her laptop. “For the record, Lance is the one who has a panic attack every time he sees a spider.” Lance snatched a pillow off his bed and tossed it at Pidge, blindsiding her and knocking the glasses off her face.

“Sorry about her.” Lance walked over to Pidge and mussed up her hair while she tried to swat away his hands. “Just sit down on my bed. Do you mind helping me dry off my guitar?”

“No, not at all.” Lance grabbed a few kitchen towels and set the case in front of Keith.

“Don’t tell me how bad it is.” He backed away and started messing around in the kitchen. Keith opened the guitar case and bit his lip. The guitar was practically submerged. He pulled out as much money as he could, setting it all on a towel. Keith had no idea where to start with the guitar. He started to turn the tuning knobs backwards, loosening the strings until he could pull them free. If they stayed in, the knobs and the strings themselves would rust. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“They’ll rust.” Keith mumbled, pulling the strings out of the bridge. “New ones won’t cost too much. These were getting slinky, anyways.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Lance pulled a few bags out of the fridge and grabbed a knife. “It’s really picking up out there. You don’t mind if I make food instead, do you?” Keith looked up from the guitar, dumbstruck. He was sitting on the bed of someone he’d met not even a week ago while he cooked for him.

“Yeah, whatever.” He went back to drying the guitar off, silently cursing every time more of the finish peeled off. “Listen, man, this thing isn’t looking too good…” 

“I said I didn’t wanna hear it.” Lance started chopping up an onion. Keith sighed and went back to wiping the guitar off. He ran a dry towel up and down the ebony wood fretboard, praying that it wouldn’t separate from the neck once it dried.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Pidge closed her laptop and turned to face Keith. “Lance is always bringing people around here, but-“

“Pidge!” Lance hissed. She rolled her eyes.

“Geez, whatever, Lance. But, what’s your story?” Keith was intimidated by the younger girl. She was clearly smart, so he’d have to choose his words carefully.

“We uh…met on a bench.” Keith stated. Pidge glanced at Lance, then back to Keith, and started giggling. 

“Wow, Lance, you’re like…Forrest Gump or something.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna shower. It was nice meeting you, Keith.”

“Yeah, you too.” Keith watched her go by and then went back to meticulously drying the guitar.

After about half an hour, Lance walked over with a plate of food. Keith had given up ten minutes before; only air drying could save the guitar now. He looked up from his phone at a dish he’d never seen before.

“It’s some of the ropa vieja I made a couple nights ago over some Moros y Cristianos.” Lance explained. Keith took the plate hesitantly. “Seasoned flank steak over black beans and rice.” 

“Got it.” Keith picked up the fork and took a small bite. It was incredible; he had never tasted anything like it.

“Is it okay?” Lance asked, sitting near him on the floor with his own plate.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” That was an understatement. Lance looked like he wanted to challenge him, but instead ate quietly. He looked at his guitar with unease. 

“So, what do you study?” Lance asked through a mouthful of food.

“Classics.” Keith didn’t even look up from his plate.

“Classics? Like…Shakespeare?” Lance’s head tilted slightly.

“Well, yeah, Shakespeare is an obvious one. There’s also Homer, Plato, Virgil, Dante…” Keith thought for a moment. “Bronte, Hemingway, Kafka, _way_ more.”

“Huh.” Lance smirked. “Who’s your favorite?” That was a question Keith had never been asked before; no one cared much after he listed the names of long-dead authors.

“Homer.” Keith said without hesitation. 

“Why?”

“He was like…the first one. The way he talked about war, friendship, and family was…interesting.” Keith had no other way to explain it.

“What did he write?” Lance asked.

“Well, _he_ didn’t write. His stories were compiled by an unknown author.” Keith explained. “He did the Iliad and the Odyssey.” 

“Never heard of ‘em.” Lance finished his food and laid down on the hardwood. “Do you wanna go somewhere?” 

“I should probably get back. I don’t want to miss the rest of my classes…” Keith immediately regretted saying that as Lance’s face dropped. He didn’t know why he suddenly cared what Lance thought; he had to focus on school and missing a whole day of classes wasn’t the way to do that.

“Yeah.” Lance faked a smile. “I understand. I’ll walk you back to the bus stop.” He took Keith’s plate and set the two in the sink. “So, do you just go home with guys for free meals and leave?”

“What? No, I-“ Lance was laughing again, his face turning red. Keith felt himself flush with embarrassment. 

“Come on, _guapo_ , let’s go.” Lance reached out his hand and pulled Keith up. “Do you have everything?” Keith glanced around.

“Yep.” He picked up his jacket off the bed and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

The two went back to the stop under the same awnings as before, with Lance waving hello to a few people he seemed to recognize. When they got to the stop, they crept under its plastic roof and started wiping the wet hair out of their faces.

“It’s almost noon, there should be a bus soon.” Lance said, glancing down the street to see if he could find one. “I’m gonna head back, but first…” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number?” He handed his phone to Keith, who typed his number in and handed it back. “Nice. I’ll text you when I get back. Thanks for hanging out with me, Keith.”

“Yeah. See you around.” Keith watched Lance rush from under the bus stop onto the soaking-wet sidewalk. He sat down on the little bench, pulling his phone out. If Lance was right, the bus would be there in fifteen minutes. A few minutes later, he got a text.

> Unknown: Got back safe! Have fun reading Homer :P

Keith saved the number and put his phone back in his pocket. He had no idea why the guitarist had such a pull on him. Lance had gotten him away from school and into an apartment in a neighborhood he wasn’t particularly familiar with. He was beyond upset that he’d missed a class, but at the same time… 

It wasn’t like he hated spending time with Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AhhhhHHHH it's been two months what's wrong with me I'm so sorry
> 
> Here's an extra long chapter to make up for how shitty I am
> 
> Songs Used:  
> -Havana (Remix) by Camilla Cabello and Daddy Yankee


End file.
